


Taking The Wanting Out of Waiting

by helloshepard



Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [20]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasizing, Mentions of Unethical Scientific Experiments, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Poorly Handled PTSD, Telepathy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Lust, War Crimes, attempted genocide, mentions of Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: What Soundwave wants, he cannot have.
Relationships: Soundwave/Shockwave/Prowl
Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789297
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Taking The Wanting Out of Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sadly cancelled tfrarepairings week :<
> 
> Inspired by That panel in the Optimus Prime comic. 
> 
> You know. That One.

Soundwave sat and waited.

This sector of Junkion was almost familiar—even before their arrival, it had clearly been one of the areas the unfortunate masses had fled to survive. Soundwave knew little about Junkion’s governing bodies, but he doubted it mattered.

No matter where they went, the result was the same.

A stay thought process attempted to run the probabilities of the Junkions themselves organizing a revolt against their leaders, had they not had the misfortune to make contact with the Decepticons a mere five centuries ago. Soundwave cut off the calculations before they could begin to run in earnest. That the Junkions were a mechanical race, fully sentient and _still_ going to be extinct within the next week…Soundwave tried not to think about that.

He wondered what might have changed if Megatron were here. Would Megatron have forbade Shockwave’s envoy from landing on Junkion? And what about the test group of Junkions, sent to them as a peace offering, who now lay in pieces in one of Shockwave’s laboratories. They came from this sector, Soundwave knew, because their fear smelled like these buildings.

What little he remembered of his life before finding Ravage and the birds surfaced only in his most restless dreams. For whatever it was worth, Soundwave had come from a place like this.

Soundwave saw himself in Junkion; a chaotic melange of unstructured sensation, brought to heel only by the strength of will.

Not even his own will: Soundwave leaned back in his seat, stretching his awareness to the edge of the planet, seeking the only respite this place offered. Junkion was maddening chaos and disorder, threatening to break through what little focus had survived this campaign. He pushed past the colors and sounds that danced across the walls surrounding him, unhindered by the sensornet dampeners he had installed around the building.

He found it quickly: after all this time, his sensors were perfectly attuned to the chilling void of Shockwave’s mind.

Soundwave lingered in its absence for as long as he dared. Shockwave had never given any indication that he noticed Soundwave’s intrusion into his mind, but Soundwave did not dare press his luck. On multiple occasions, Shockwave had floated the idea of Soundwave being assigned to his command, with the understanding Soundwave would be there to continue work on Ferak’s aptly-named Nightmare Engine. Megatron had denied each request, not even needing to ask Soundwave for his input. Shockwave’s command was a euphemism for _test subjects._

If nothing else, Shockwave’s cold desire for him provided all the incentive Soundwave needed to remain in Megatron’s good graces.

Soundwave could not read Shockwave’s mind, but he loved the silence all the same.

The only hint that Shockwave was still planetside at all was the passionless void amidst Junkion’s chaos. Soundwave had managed to carve out a semblance of peace in this sector, killing every Junkion in a hundred-mile radius and transferring what little signal-blocking equipment could be safely removed from his ship. Junkion was still a constant storm, but now it lingered in the back of his processor, allowing him to focus on relaying Decepticon communications across the planet. It was a simple task— _too_ simple, leaving Soundwave excessive free time to struggle over Junkion’s hold on his mind.

Soundwave’s internal temperature kicked up a notch. The Junkions had unleashed a weapon—more chaos than anything substantive, a flurry of hundreds of acid-soaked scrap metal raining down on the encampment.

And then—ah. There he was.

Where Shockwave’s mind was eerie, comforting silence, Prowl’s mind was a tumult of conflicting numbers and trajectories as he calculated the exact path of the acid maelstrom raining down on them.

Soundwave lacked the presence of mind to look deeper and attempt to understand exactly why Prowl had determined stepping up to divert the Junkion’s attention away from Shockwave was needed.

He trusted Prowl’s reasoning all the same. Soundwave had spent a full week analyzing Prowl’s strategic choices in past campaigns, and he rarely made an error that could not be traced back to unreliable information. He allotted himself a few minutes to run scenarios as Prowl directed his squad where the fire, shooting down the storm of acidic debris with pinpoint accuracy.

Chances were Prowl had decided to save Shockwave in order to preserve command structure. Were he to allow Shockwave to be killed, the void in Decepticon High Command would lead to temporary victories—at least until someone took Shockwave’s place. Prowl likely feared someone even more ruthless—and more unpredictable—than Shockwave himself would be promoted. Bludgeon or Scorponok, perhaps.

The second reason, Soundwave was startled to realize, was because Prowl knew he was here. Decepticon communications had been transmitting across the system flawlessly, and Prowl had deduced it was because Soundwave was present. Killing Shockwave would flush Soundwave out—maybe. Or it might drive Soundwave deeper underground.

And Prowl had determined, Soundwave realized with no small amount of surprise, he was _important_. Not important in the vapid, Autobot way, where important mechs like Optimus Prime were lauded and shielded from the worst their factions had to offer. Important like a Decepticon, where he _mattered._ Not because of his alt mode or a shiny, false bauble had been implanted in his chassis, but because he was…

For a moment, Soundwave indulged himself, lingering in the tantalizing mix of fear and hate Prowl felt whenever he thought of Soundwave. He felt Prowl’s instinctive repulsion of Soundwave and his abilities, his devotion to a cause that had torn his home apart. What little sympathy Soundwave might have had for him dissolved like acid on protometal. Orion Pax had done more to destroy Soundwave’s home than Soundwave ever could, long before Soundwave had ever picked up a blaster, but Prowl would never see it that way.

He relayed the last transmissions for the cycle, then powered down the console and settled back in his chair. He was too far away to reach the battlefield before the skirmish inevitably finished (as it always did these days: in a draw), and his mission was clear: streamline Decepticon communications, jam Autobot transmissions.

Soundwave switched off his visor. Through Prowl’s eyes, he watched the Autobot gunners successfully take down the last of the storm. The Autobot’s tactical processor detected an anomaly in his surroundings, and Prowl whipped around, only for Shockwave’s blow toe bounce painfully off his doorwing, shorting out the sensors as Prowl screamed and Soundwave winced at the unexpected blow.

Prowl’s mind was a finely-tuned, ruthless instrument of war, but compared to Shockwave’s dispassion, he was _nothing._ Soundwave allowed himself a moment to imagine what it might be like, struggling under the weight of Shockwave’s empty gaze as the scientist peeled him apart, finding what made Soundwave _Soundwave…_

And making it Shockwave’s.

As it inevitably did, the fantasy switched gears. Soundwave hadn’t been at an Institute in a hundred thousand years but he remembered it well—the cold steel restrains, the sharp needles digging into his neck. The mnemosurgeons’ barely-contained fear of having a high-profile target in their ‘care’ smelled like sulfur.

Soundwave exchanged the mnemosurgeons for Prowl. Where they felt fear, Prowl felt _anger._

He had lived most of his life with both, and Soundwave always preferred the anger. Prowl would hurt him, yes, and Soundwave would hurt him in turn, reciting the things Prowl kept close to his spark, guarded with what tattered remnants of compassion had survived the last two million years.

And then he imagined them both, united against him. Their hands on his plating. Undoing him. Making him _theirs,_ all ruthless, unyielding focus and cold logic pitted against the chaotic harmony of Soundwave’s mind.

Soundwave wanted nothing else.

The skirmish was brief: Shockwave was not built for combat, which factored into all of his plans. One of Shockwave’s scouts sent a ping (which Soundwave intercepted effortlessly and read before sending it on its way). They had found a way to the planet’s core.

Prowl’s scouts had found a path two days ago. Soundwave had allowed himself a brief moment of selfishness, withholding the information from Shockwave in the hopes that they might remain on Junkion a while longer.

Clearly, he had underestimated him—he had underestimated both of them.

With some disappointment, Soundwave realized their time on Junkion was coming to an end. The whorls of muted color dancing across the walls vanished for a moment, leaving nothing but the dead gray of his surroundings. He spent another longing moment in Prowl’s mind—while he might need to take care not to alert Shockwave of the mental intrusions (if an intrusion could even be detected), Prowl did not warrant any such courtesy. The desperate, rebellious part of Soundwave _wanted_ Prowl to feel it, to seek him out and hunt Soundwave down.

He cut off that thought process as well. That bordered on courting treason—there was imagining a fantastical scenario where he was pinned between Cybertron’s greatest minds and fragged senseless, and then there was wanting to be caught by the enemy.

He felt the collision of the skirmish dissipate into Junkion’s murky atmosphere as the Autobot and Decepticon’s respective forces retreated. Steely resolve and bottomless logic clashed once more, and then Shockwave and Prowl parted ways a moment later, each sporting new dents and scratches Soundwave would have given anything to touch.

So many of his memories faded to hazy sameness as time drained all but the strongest of his emotions dry, but Soundwave hoped he would remember this. 

Soundwave sighed and reactivated his visor, then got back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback makes my world go 'round <3


End file.
